


The stained stones kissed...

by sian22



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ithilien Rangers, M/M, Teitho Fanfiction Contest, Trapped, a little opium goes a long way, greater love, joking, memories of Osgiliath, original character death, prompt pain, slash? you decide...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/pseuds/sian22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of Ithilien scouts find themselves in dire straits above Minas Morgul…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The stained stones kissed...

**Author's Note:**

> submitted for the Teitho challenge-Pain
> 
> The title is from Wilfred Owen’s elegy to brotherhood in arms. “Greater love”
> 
> “Red lips are not so red/  
> as the stained stones kissed by the ( ) dead.”

 

“Look out!”

My partner’s yell came just too late for me to leap as the world dissolved and the ground beneath our feet rolled sickeningly like a wave.  

A low roiling boom of thunder hit and I stumbled, something hard and sharp grabbing at my ankle.  I had just a moment to think ‘earthquake?!”  before an insistent pair of hands pushed hard upon my back.

Cartwheeling, choking on dust and leaf and a metal-tinged thin loam, I tumbled down the slope, coming to rest in the upslope bole of a tree.    

What in all the fires of Angband had just hit?  

I righted myself, wincing as I stepped with my right foot.  Must have rolled it badly for it hurt the blazes and Morgoth’s teeth my boot was ripped.   I coughed out what felt like a sackload of grit before looking up through the thin, scraggly pines.

My stomach promptly fell onto its knees.  

The ledge my partner and I had just stood upon was gone. 

“Malec!  Malec! “

Heart pounding in my chest  I scrambled back to the spot I had occupied moments past as fast as my ankle would allow.  The whole space was now filled by giant blocks of grey jagged stone and  looked for all the world as if an angry child had just knocked their castle down.  The earthquake had clearly made mountain side give way and even now smaller blocks and pebbles pinged and bounced across the top.   

I coughed.  A great cloud of dust floated on the oddly quiet air.    “Mal!?  Are you there?”  I called, over and over, desperate to hear his voice.   Time was of the essence: he could be hurt or worse and I felt sickenly certain he was somewhere underneath.  It had been his hands that had pushed me from harm’s way. 

Every few feet I paused to listen close, straining to hear through the  groaning of the settllng blocks, ducking as the last of the small stones hurtled down. 

A bare ten feet from where I stood there came a noise.

I lunged as fast as I dared for a spot where a longer rectangle of the fissile rock had made a natural lintel of the stone.  Without a thought to the consequence I squeezed into the hole as far as my shoulders would take me. 

It was getting on to dusk.  All day it had taken us to lay down a unfollowable trail and leave the putrid floor of Morgul Vale behind, and now so late, with the stone blocking the little light above my head I could barely see.   I peered through the dim, dust-filled light and saw something decidedly not grey: a lock of dirty, chestnut hair and a grazed pink cheek.   And a pair of blinking, pain-glazed eyes. 

 It was Malec, my partner.  Trapped.

“Tor… Torgil?”  came the shaky whisper…

Blessed Yavanna!  For a moment I was so elated I thought my heart might beat right out of my chest. 

‘Here…here  I am _toren_. ”   I wriggled a little farther, stretched out my arm and touched gingerly at his face.  Twisting with care I felt around the little cavern.  It was perhaps two feet high but sloped: it narrowed down past his hips to where his knees and legs were lost in the dark.  Mercifully Malec’s chest and head were free but it was unclear if I could get him out without moving an awful lot of rock. 

“Can you move?  Is your left hand free? “ I asked, shoving some smaller lose pebbles and sharper shards away from his face and neck.   Along the far side of the space he was pressed right up a giant slab of grey.

“I…I  can move my hand a little, ” came the unsteady breath.  That at least was good.  His right arm lay under a smaller block and with some cautious shifting and shuffling, and a muffled cry of joy, I freed a forearm .   Shaking fingers grasped desperately at mine.   

 “What about your legs?” I asked, heart in mouth.  He blinked up sluggishly and a little disoriented and I wondered if he had hit his head.  “Can you try?”

There came a hesitant nod and after a moment of obvious strain a pained groan sounded and the first note of panic tinged his voice. “I can’t move them Tor.  I can’t feel my feet.”    

Oh _Valar_.   My first thought had been _Nienna he is alive_.    Now, the thought came unbidden:   _oh Nienna he_ is _alive_.  Pinned by tons of solid rock.

Fighting down a rising sense of panic, I felt cautiously along his chest.  His breathing was shallow but did not seem too pained.   There were a myriad of smaller cuts on his arm and face and one larger graze that bloomed  like a rose against the pallor of this skin.    But, alarmingly, it was not the only red in that little space.  As I peered at the dusty earth down past his hips an ominous small pool of blood was visible in the dim.  

I had to get him free and fast. 

“Mal, “ I said, shuffling back carefully , “hang on and I will get you out…”   

I was far from as certain as I tried to sound.  It was a huge mass of rock and quite apart from the weight, the noise of working would be a danger too.  We had slipped away from the sentries lower down but who knew what random Orc patrols could still be out?    

Resolved to try, I took off my cloak and rolled my tunic sleeves up.  I knew that to push at the rock from inside the hole might bring the whole thing crashing down:  the only hope lay in removing the blocks from up above.   

At first I made a little bit of progress.  Careless of the cuts to my own skin, I grabbed the lose pieces and tossed them off, being careful not to dislodge the larger stones below too suddenly.  A satisfying gap in the pile steadily appeared  and I worked hard, grunting and cursing at the effort, biting my cheek each time my ankle twinged.  I began to gain some hope.  I was going to get Malec free and we would find a way to get him home.    

After minutes of steady effort I was down to the bigger blocks that formed Malec’s cavity.  I heaved and pulled but could not shift them- they were too big -and I needed greater leverage. 

Glancing hastily around I noticed branches amidst the stones.  Trees!  Yes!  The fall had taken out the smaller pines on the slope and I could use their trunks.     

Elated, I yanked one out and carefully wedged its end below the topmost block.  Grunting and straining, I pulled down on my makeshift  bar.  The tree slipped and I stopped to wedge it farther in.  Another heave but nothing moved, other than my feet.

“Come on you bastard,”  I pleaded,  putting all my weight and every muscle that I had into another  concerted push.   

The blasted tree just snapped in half.

“Aiighhh!”   I threw the broken end violently into the trees and sat down hard, panting from the exertion.  Hot salt rained grief and frustration through my scrawny beard.   This obviously wasn’t going to work and there was too little time.  Even if I left, if I went to find help, Malec would bleed out before any from our company arrived.  Our mission had taken us to the farthest range from the refuge that we had attempted in a long while.  If I ran it  would still take hours to find the closest out-patrols, and more to the point I would be avoiding Orcs the entire way, disguising my trail because I dared not lead _them_ back.  

The reality was stark.  It would still take a day, not hours, to bring help back.    

Wildly, for a moment I flirted with returning the way we had come.  Marching straight back down to the vile Enemy’s doorstep and rustling up the help of one of nightmare things we had espied.   _Please sir can you lend me a troll or two?_ _I have some rocks to move._ As if.  My arms and legs would be pulled right off before half my sentence had got out. 

I wanted to howl.   Sweet _Eru_ , my best friend was trapped and it looked as if the slide would become his tomb.  

“Torgil?”   A thin, pained voice brought me back to reality with a jolt.  How long had I just sat in misery?

I forced my panicked heart to calm down, turned and crawled back into the hole.  This time, worried about crowding him,  I lay flat upon my stomach, letting my long legs stick out of the hole.  It was awkward, there were some jagged pieces poking into my ribs, but nothing like his pain.  The pool of red was not much larger, he was bleeding slowly, but the wound was frustratingly beyond my reach.

As if he caught my thought, a light of knowledge flickered in Malec’s eyes.  “Tor..  you’ve got to finish the job.  Get word to the Captain ‘bout what we’ve seen.” 

“I can’t…” 

 ‘ _Leave you’_ was what I’d been going to say, but we both knew eventually I would.  I swallowed hard.  He was right but a few more hours of delay in checking would not matter to the cause. 

The buildup that we’d seen was so much greater than any of us had feared. 

“I will Mal, I will,” I said, finally. “but first I need to make you comfortable. “   

Or as comfortable as I could while we waited for the inevitable.   “Are you cold?”

“Nay, ” he lied,  but I could see he that he was shivering from shock or chill. 

I retrieved my cloak and wadded one end to make a pillow, threw the rest across his chest for warmth.   “Are you thirsty?  In pain?” 

 “Aye..” came the hesitant reply.  I reached automatically for what water and bandages I had.  Cursed cock of a kinslayer  my pack was not on my back!  Thinking back, I realized it had not been there when I doffed my cloak.  It must have fallen off down below. 

 “Mal, “ I said, “ I have to go get supplies.  They are farther down the slope.  I have to leave, but just for a moment. Will you be ok?”

“You are going? ”   Fear and pain leaked out of that normally deep voice.  “You will come back?” 

“Of course…”     I reached and squeezed gently at the shoulder I could reach.  Touched his cheek briefly when pained eyes turned my way.  “Don’t go running off for a pint while I’m gone.”

That at least brought his usual rueful snort.  

After anxious minutes scrambling down below I found it.  The water bottle was there, and bandages, and tucked into an inner sleeve I had stitched myself, a small leather bound vial.  

Praise _Este_ -the poppy.   I had not thought of it before.   We were scouts, spies, whatever word you chose to put to it it was the straight out truth. The Captain had issued the precious stuff to us just for this mission.  No words, just a grim steady look that said using it was up to us.   If we were captured by the Enemy  t’was certain we would receive the ‘special’ treatment reserved for spies. 

And there were fates much worse than death.

I opened the leather case, hurriedly and carefully, buoyed by the knowledge that here at least was _something_ I could do to ease his way.   What I found made me swear a streak.   The vial was cracked: the thick syrup had leaked out and soaked into the heavy leather.  Mal’s pack was unreachable and this was all we had. 

 _Morgoth’s balls_.  Could fate not pity us a bit?  The thought of him in torment from his injuries, dying slowly while I sat by was all too much to bear.  I poked a finger into the case and found at least some of the sticky substance stuck to my questing fingers.  

Perhaps at least I could ease his pain a bit.

I scrambled back.   “Malec, Malec here.”  I smeared some of the dark stuff on two fingers and brushed them across on his lips.   “Lick.”  

He did as ordered and made a sour face.  “Gah that stuff is bitter..”

Yes, yes it was, but also startlingly effective.  I fed him as much as I could scrape up and even as I tipped the water flask slowly (careful not to choke him), some of the sharper lines in his face began to ease.   

I glanced.  The red pool below his leg was broader now.    _Stop it Tor you can not think of that._   

I took out my first aid kit and bound up the few cuts that I could reach; opened a little enameled jar and put Ioreth’s famous arnica paste daintily on every bruise.   

“How’s that?  All better?“  I asked, trying to keep my voice light and positive though it sounded like horse-pucky even to my own ears.  I was the close-lipped, brooding lump. Malec was the sunny one, always seeing the glass half-full.  

He smiled weakly.   “Oh aye…t’were the parchment cut that were paining me the most.”

I laughed.  Oh gods, even in the face of disaster he could always crack a joke.   “What else can I do?”

 “N’owt.  Just stay.”   The words were soft, but no less heartfelt.  In the small and dusty space I thought I could hear both our hearts clench hard and for a moment there were no more words. 

“Tor, I am not afraid.”    

“of Orcs?”  I mused into the heavy quiet.

“No you ejit.”  A loose fist thumped my arm.  “I am going to die.”

“No you’re not.”    

“Of course I am.  And I am imagining it.”    He was?   I blinked.  I had never known him for a morbid turn.    He was a Nimrais man, small and wiry, with a smile that lit the sun and graceful limbs like the birches of his White Mountains home.  Elven bright and full of wit and vinegar….

 “Beyond the halls of Mandos it must be wondrous fair.”    

I sighed and hunkered down, shifted so a pebble bit more gently at my hip.  No one knew what happened to Men after their time of waiting.  They went somewhere  but If a little fantasy eased his mind I would  force my lugubrious self to play. 

“Oh aye. You’ll walk amidst green hills and cloud-free skies and the streets paved in gold.   There’s all the food and drink a man could ever want.”

“The beer is good?”

 “Oh aye…. and the whiskey.  Ambrosia.  Better than Anborn’s swill.  And everywhere is warm and there is only the gentlest bit of rain.”    This last brought a smile.  It had been a soggy winter.  We were all tired of the Refuge’s damp and chill.  The pained eyes brightened for a moment. 

“Poor buggers the Elves. They just get reborn.  Don’t get to see that haven for themselves.  It’s  just for Men.”

I was about to open my mouth and speak when another low rumble started up.  Dear gods it was another shake.  Without thinking I threw myself across his head and chest, felt a rain of loose pebbles across my back, and braced for the worst. 

After a second or so the lighter shaking stopped.  An aftershock.  Nowhere near as bad as the first but frightening still. 

“Mal are you ok?” I worriedly felt gently at his face and chest.  No worse.  The cavern did not feel any smaller but if the blocks on his legs had shifted more…..

“Yes..yes Torgil. Fine.  I’m fine.”        

Oh right.   _Fine_.   The hopelessness of our situation bubbled up like a bitter spring. 

This could not be happening.  We were the best.  The best of the best, actually.  Part of the hardiest, toughest, smartest company in all of Gondor and we were its elite scouts.  The only ones entrusted to slip in and out of Morgul Vale without bringing all the fires of Mordor down.  And we had.  Oh Valar we had done it and it felt too cruel that a ruddy earthquake should have shorn that feat of any happiness. 

‘You should go..it’s not safe,”  Mal whispered,  blinking fresh grit out his eyes and looking warily at the rocks of his craggy prison. 

He was not wrong.  But there nothing that could make me leave him now. 

I shook my head and tipped the water flask for him again, took a swig of my own, feeling more than seeing what I did.   The dust was slowly settling down but the little space was darker for the nonce. 

“How’s the air up there?”   

Oh Mal.   I could not decide whether to laugh or cry.    This was our private joke.    _Torgil_ \- tower to the stars _._  I was much like my name:  tall, almost as tall as Madril or the Captain and dark-haired and grey-eyed.  Somewhere back I had a little Numenorian blood and Malec always joked I could touch the stars like the tower of my name.  

I squeezed his hand and ducked my head, tried to hide another errant tear.  Like me he was a bachelor.  No sweetheart to pine for, just a sister and his brothers in the company.   In that we were not so very different.  Otherwise-well we were like chalk and cheese.  Damrod had taken 10:2 on us killing each other in the first week, but our Captain, Faramir, saw something that none other had. That we could overcome our differences and work.  He’d been right.  In point of fact we more than worked, we clicked. Came to be like a single man, easy as breathing, slipping like ghosts in and out of the Enemy’s own lair.    I could track and he could move, could suss things out better than anyone; and quickly we had eyes on the back of our heads and a sixth sense for each other.

“You think the Captain has the right of it…?”

“The vale?”  I asked, confused.

“No his dreams, Tor.  I should have liked to see a King.”   

Our beloved Captain was prone to dreams.  Whether they were true portent or some design of the Enemy we never knew, but in the confines of Henneth Annun everyone could hear.   More than once he had shouted about a king and, superstitious to a man,  we had not said a word.in case we jinxed what we dearly wished to pass.

“You and me, _toren_.  You and me.”      

For a while we talked of nothing serious.  It was growing darker; dusk had passed and now a night bird called.  It was a thrush.  That hurt, almost beyond breath, for in another glade, a little slower and a little higher, that call meant “Man down.”     

Sometime about the first rising of Earendil he began to put his affairs in meager order. 

“Tor I’d leave you my best dice but I can’t.”

I gave him a rueful small half smirk.  Oh yes, his dice. They were the first thing of which I’d think.   “You’ve promised them to Will?” 

“Nay, I was worried Damrod would use them while I was gone so they’re here. Somewhere in my pack.”

“No matter then.”

“But you get my best bow and all my books.”   I shook my head.  He had always been more learned than I.  “Promise you’ll keep on studying.  Captain’ll help I’m sure.” 

Oh certainly.  Captain Faramir had nothing more important to worry about right now than one semi-illiterate sergeant.  But I did not demur.  If it made Malec happy to think any of us would survive the hellstorm that was certain to rain down, who was I to disagree?   

“I promise..”

“You’ll tell Lindel? “

“Oh course..”

“That I love her and the lads?” 

“Yes.”   His sister and her little boys were his everything.  Next to us of course.  Being a Ranger of Ithilien was the proudest thing that Malec had ever done.

A trembling, too cool hand squeezed a little harder…  “Tor…” 

I drew in a ragged breath.   _Nienna_ I knew what he was going to say but I could not do it.  My heart was already breaking, jagged splinters carving off with every word; anguish pouring out over the red-stained stones like the inexorable trickle of his blood. I could not sit there and hear him pour out his heart. Call me brother and truest friend, partner and the one who had his back. That he loved me too….

All at once I could not stand it anymore.   Somehow it had to stop.

“You’re not going to die Mal.“

“I’m not?”

 “A wizard will appear to help me dig you out.”

“Tor?”  A faint strengthening came to his thread thin voice- a little hopefulness.  

Oh but I loved him.  Blessed man he was going to play along.  Help me when I could not help him. 

I settled down more comfortably down upon the rock, held his hand as tightly as I dared.  The stars shone down in mute but flickering sympathy.  Whoever said they disdained the Edain’s plight did not know the beauty of their blanket on a chilling, frightened night.

“Yes… Mithrandir will come. From whatever blessed tower is his home and the rocks will simply disappear.” 

I had no idea.  This was utter rot.  He had not been seen in months.  For all I knew he was locked up in Barad-dur but the Grey One _was_ most powerful being I knew.  Next to the horror that lived up the up road. 

“He’ll wave his staff and fly us back to the City.” 

“On an Eagle?”

“Yes and we’ll give our report straight to the Steward himself and the Captain and Captain-General when he returns.  They’ll be a party in our honour …” 

His dull eyes lit up at that.  “Like the ’18?”   

“Of course.“  

The ’18 was the byword among the company for a feast.  After the great victory in west Osgiliath the Captain General had arranged for a now legendary party in the streets.  The best food from the Citadel, wines from Dol Amroth and Gelin both.  It was what we dreamed of when we munched hard tack in the sleet and rain.   

“What’ll you have first? The roast boar or the pheasant.”

“The boar,” he replied in a now slightly breathless voice.   “And queen of puddings and honeyed figs and little treacle tarts.”  

I tried to smile.  He had a sweet tooth my partner did where I’d always preferred the tart.    "It'll be in your honour, Mal, so this time don't be too shy for the dancing." 

That brought a sudden coughing fit.  I cradled his head in my hand and raised him up, hoping it might help him breathe.  He sputtered for a moment but weakly waved the flask away, eyes shining at the challenge.   He had always been the first up when the tunes began; as graceful there as he was slipping past hapless Orc patrols.  

I, on the other hand, was hopeless.  And a fabled wallflower too boot. 

He smiled.   “As long you don’t step on my toes.”  

Oh gods, I laughed so hard it hurt.  He was remembering our one and only dance.   I was a giant un-coordinated lout and he was smooth as silk.  Wolf whistles had followed us round Osgiliath’s broad square that heady night as he had tried to teach me a step a two.  It took one of our more un-official hand signals to shut the cat-calling up.   I hadn’t cared.  Laughing, drunk on survival and wine that had flowed like a river down the streets, my best friend’s green eyes twinkling above a jagged cut, it had been the happiest night in my memory.

I squeezed the trembling hand a little tighter and was blessed with the faintest quirk of his sunny grin.  

“You’ll have to dress smarter this time.”  Our Lord Steward had come to celebrate his “eldest’s great and glorious victory” and had frowned in passing at the open rents on Mal’s uniform.  Kind of hard to look pulled together when hours before one has been plunged into a stone- and arrow-choked, freezing river.  

 “All I gotta do is look better than you…  “

“That’s not too hard.”  

Self-deprecation was my forte. It always made him smile and I leaned in close, brushed his brow with a gentle kiss, and strained to catch the now breathy whisper of his words.   

“Naw.. you’re prettier than…..” 

Than what?  The thought dangled in the darkened air. 

  
“Mal?”    

Surely he'd paused for breath.  I listened carefully.    
  
“Mal?”

I asked again but there was only the rustle of the leaves and an ominous creaking of shifting blocks.     

Into that ringing fractured silence my own hoarse rasp sounded sharp as shattered rock.  

  
“Mal?”

There was no answer.  Just the quiet moan of the dusty wind and the quiet breaking of my heart.  

An unsteady fingertip found no flutter at his throat.   The face I knew better than my own was set softly in repose and  emerald eyes had closed.  .

I bowed my head, and offered up a silent prayer.  

 _Namo, I pray thee, guide him to his rest._  

His pain had gone.

And mine had just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Toren is Sindarin for brother. It is my headcanon that the Dunedain of Gondor use it too.
> 
> Grateful thanks to Annafan, Artura and Haarajot of the Garden of Ithilien for their encouragement and critters.


End file.
